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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25268065">The Painting</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiggityjams/pseuds/jiggityjams'>jiggityjams</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Soulmates, FBI Trainee!Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:40:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,328</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25268065</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiggityjams/pseuds/jiggityjams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A painting of Will was hanging in the art gallery. In it, he was reclining naked on a lounge chair surrounded by blankets, rendered in exquisite detail from every fold in the fabric, to his delicately painted fingernails. His expression appeared… somehow both amused and exasperated. </p><p>It was truly a masterpiece. </p><p>The only problem was that it was a painting from the renaissance era, a few centuries before Will had been born. </p><p>Or the one where Will is an FBI trainee who has a run in with the mysterious Hannibal Lecter, who just so happens to own a painting of Will.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>271</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I’d Rot in Hell With You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>You might be asking yourself “Jams, what is it with you and painting related AUs?” Because I know I’m wondering the same thing. </p><p>I wanted to practice writing shorter stories and this fun AU popped into my head! I’m planning on 4-5 chapters and have the story roughly outlined. </p><p>For impasto readers: I’ll be alternating uploads, no worries ♥️ </p><p>Now that that’s out of the way: I hope you enjoy ♥️</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A painting of Will was hanging in the art gallery. In it, he was reclining naked on a lounge chair surrounded by blankets, rendered in exquisite detail from every fold in the fabric, to his delicately painted fingernails. His expression appeared… somehow both amused and exasperated. </p><p>It was truly a masterpiece. </p><p>The only problem was that it was a painting from the renaissance era, a few centuries before Will had been born. </p><p>“Okay, you were right. That’s trippy.” The FBI trainee finally agreed after the uncanny valley feeling left him. </p><p>“I told you it looks just like you. That’s even the face you make when I make a great pun.” Beverley pointed out, nudging him with her elbow. </p><p>“You’ve never made a good pun in your life.” But she wasn’t entirely wrong. Will understood that human features were just a roll of the genetic dice, some people were bound to look alike… but he still couldn’t shake the strange feeling that he got when he looked at the painting. </p><p>“Maybe he’s a relative of yours? Maybe you could trace your line back…”</p><p>He shot her a glance. “Bev, I didn’t even meet my grandparents.” </p><p>“Family can be a strange concept… I’ve noticed many Americans have stopped keeping track of their trees.” </p><p>Both trainees jumped a little, turning to look at the European socialite who had walked into their conversation. </p><p>“Uh… yeah.” Will answered lamely, raising a brow as his eyes landed on the stranger’s prominent cheekbone. </p><p>“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” His smile was small, every inch of him tailored to perfection. “Hannibal Lecter. I’m the owner of the painting you two were admiring.”</p><p>“Oh that’s cool! I saw this painting the other day and I knew I had to show my friend here.” Beverley chipped in, saving Will from himself. </p><p>The man chuckled and looked up at the painting, taking a moment to soak in the details, before he returned his gaze to the young man beside him. “I admit I do see the resemblance. I’ve had this painting in my private collection for some time actually, a friend recently suggested I lend it to the museum.” </p><p>From anyone else it would have sounded like bragging. From Hannibal, however, it was very matter of fact, his expression revealing nothing. Against his usual reservations, Will risked making eye contact- and froze. </p><p>The European was still smiling and his gaze was a little intense but that’s <em> all </em> Will could tell. There were no signs of emotions or thoughts under the surface. </p><p>He quickly looked away, pulling his glasses off and cleaning them as an excuse. He barely heard Bev pitch in something about the collection in an attempt to save the interaction. </p><p>“Well, it was lovely to meet both of you, but I’m afraid I must be going.” Will’s sigh of relief was cut short by the man reaching into his suit jacket. “Perhaps we could finish this conversation over coffee?”</p><p>Will numbly accepted the offered onyx black card. “Who uses business cards anymore?” </p><p>The corner of Hannibal’s mouth quirked up. “<em>I </em>do. I find them more personal.”</p><p>The young man glanced down at the <em> customized </em>business card, then back up at the man, still as tranquil as before. He still didn’t seem put off by Will’s… Willness. Another strange thing about the man. </p><p>The future profiler glanced up again and found the European was still politely awaiting a response. </p><p>“You, uh, don’t even know my name?” </p><p>“Are you willing to give it to me?” Another twitch at the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“They do say there's power in a name.” Will said carefully, half convinced he was bargaining with some fae creature.</p><p>“To know one’s name is to have power over them,” Hannibal agreed. “I’ve given you mine already.”</p><p>A beat of silence. “... It’s Will. Will Graham.”</p><p>Warmth crept into maroon eyes, the first sign of a real, human emotion Will had seen on the man’s face. </p><p>“Will.” He said once, like he was tasting it. “It’s been a pleasure. I’ll be waiting for your call.” And with that the man excused himself, heading towards the exit. </p><p>The blue-eyed man stared down at the card for a long moment. A number of things stood out about it, not just the dramatic color choices or font, but the <b>MD </b> and the <b>Johns Hopkins Hospital Trauma Surgeon</b> were sure surprising. </p><p>“Will!” Beverley grabbed his arm and urgently hissed, “What was that?”</p><p>He was kind of guilty when he realized he’d forgotten about his best friend. He glanced around, taking in the milling museum goers around them, confirming he was still in reality. </p><p>“I don’t know. That was… weird.” To put it lightly. </p><p>Beverley grabbed the card out of his hand, reading it over. “Holy shit… We gotta look this up.” </p><p>Will was carted out of the museum and out to Bev’s car. They were both silent on the way to Lucy’s Coffee shop, Will trying to process the last twenty minutes. Hannibal Lecter was a rich, older foreigner who had just <em> decided </em> to flirt with Will, of all people, because the younger man happened to look like a figure in a painting. </p><p>A <em> nude </em> painting. </p><p>Where did Hannibal usually have it hanging? Will wasn’t sure how he felt about the possible answers. </p><p>He blinked, realizing the car was parked, and glanced over at Beverly. </p><p>“Dude. That actually just happened.” She shook her head. “Will, do you know what this means?” </p><p>“I really hope that painting isn’t usually hanging in his bedroom…”</p><p>“Will! Focus.” </p><p>He sat up, sighing. “I am focused.”</p><p>“No, you’re focused on the wrong thing. Think about it man.” She reached over to the backseat and grabbed her backpack. “Come on, let’s google his net worth.” </p><p>“His what?” He asked flatly. </p><p>The woman closed her eyes for a moment, taking a breath. “Will. You’re not looking at the bigger picture here. This guy has major sugar daddy vibes.”</p><p>His eyes narrowed. “Bev. I don’t want a sugar daddy.” Words he never thought he’d ever <em> have </em>to say. </p><p>“So you’d rather keep surviving off of take out and frozen fish then?” She snarked. </p><p>A pause. </p><p>“That’s what I thought, come on.” She stepped out of the car and didn’t wait for him, heading for the front of the little coffee shop. Will let out a groan but followed. </p><p>Lucy’s was popular with university students for its eclectic array of chairs and artisanal lattes. Will just ordered a black coffee and a chocolate croissant, while his fellow classmate got to work on her laptop, an open notebook next to it for important details. </p><p>The man sat down and sipped his coffee. </p><p>“So he apparently moved to Baltimore a few years ago and he’s known for throwing these insane dinners. Look man!” </p><p>She pushed the laptop towards him, revealing the cover of a local Baltimore magazine: a large ornate table filled to the brim with dishes Will couldn’t name, surrounded by a bunch of rich people clapping. </p><p>“Jesus.” He grimaced. “Yeah, no thanks.” The thought of having to go to a large gathering filled with too many eyes and emotions swirling in one room almost made him sick. </p><p>He paused, “Wait, Baltimore? If he’s from Baltimore why is he lending a piece from his private collection to a museum in <em> Virginia </em>?”</p><p>Beverly frowned. “I mean, it is only an hour away… maybe it just happened to be a museum he has connections too. He certainly knows a lot of people.” </p><p>“Hmm.” He grumbled into his coffee. “Something’s fishy Bev.”</p><p>“I still think you should give him a shot.” </p><p>Silence hung in the air for a bit, Will glaring at her eyebrow. </p><p>“Will, you were weird and rude at the museum-“</p><p>“Gee, thanks.” He quipped, taking a bite of his pastry. </p><p>“- and he seemed to be into it. He was weird too. Normally I’d say this is too good to be true but…”</p><p>“I’m not gay.”</p><p>“You sure about that?” She asked, staying serious. </p><p>His answer was muffled in a coffee mug. “… Mostly.” </p><p>She nodded sagely. “You’re both weird, Will. I think you should at least take him up on his offer for coffee.”</p><p>“He’s probably a serial killer.” Will muttered. </p><p>“Well it’s a good thing you’re training for the FBI.” Bev snorted. </p><p>Will sighed and rested his head on the table. “Yeah. Yeah I guess. He’s kind of old though…”</p><p>“Nothing wrong with a silver fox.” </p><p>“I hate you.” </p><p>The woman didn’t dignify his comment with a response, eyes focused on her screen. “Huh, so the magazine article talks about him a little. He’s apparently from Lithuania.”</p><p>“That explains the accent.” He sat back up, running a hand through his hair. Will couldn’t deny that he was curious. The man was charming- though he had to admit he was suspicious of those cheekbones- but he was an unreadable wall. </p><p><em>Too many mirror neurons,</em> <em>Empathy disorder. </em></p><p>Whatever doctors wanted to call it, <em> it </em>still caused Will to be overwhelmed with other people’s emotions. Glasses and avoiding eye contact helped lessen the intensity of the onslaught, but it never really went away. </p><p>Humans were their emotions. He could hear it in their voices, see it in the way they held their shoulders. And it was always too much. </p><p>But Lecter was different. </p><p>Will wondered what it would feel like to be around someone like him. The possibility of <em> peace </em> around another human being was almost worth the risk of getting to know someone. </p><p>“Will?”</p><p>He blinked and looked back up at his friend. “Yeah?”</p><p>“You okay?” She asked carefully. </p><p>The man considered the question. “… Fine. I’ll text him.”</p><p>Bev fist pumped the air in victory. “Awesome, make sure you text me where you’re going. If you shoot me an X while you’re out I’ll call you and give you an out if you need one.” </p><p>His eyes narrowed. “Okay mom.” After a beat he tacked on a more genuine “Thank you.” </p><p>“I want you to try stepping out of your comfort zone, but we’ll do it safely.” Another sage nod. </p><p>He reached across the table and took the business card back from his friend, staring at the embossed number listed next to <em> Cell </em>.</p><p>Pulling out his phone he gave one last glance to his fellow trainee before he bit the bullet. </p><p>
  <b> <em>Hey, this is Will from the museum. </em> </b>
</p><p>Keeping it simple. </p><p>His phone buzzed almost immediately. </p><p>
  <b> <em>It’s good to hear from you, Will. I hope this means you’ll be accepting my offer for coffee?</em> </b>
</p><p>He showed the text to Bev, who smirked. “Oh he is <em> definitely </em>interested, Will. Even if this doesn’t work out, I bet the fancy dinners will be worth it.” </p><p>Will grumbled in agreement. </p><p>
  <b> <em>Coffee sounds good. What day works best for you?</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>How about tomorrow after six?</em> </b>
</p><p>“He, uh, wants to meet tomorrow.” </p><p>“Say yes, it’s not like you had plans.” She remarked.</p><p>There was a glare, but they both knew it was true. </p><p>
  <b> <em>That works for me. Did you already have a place in mind?</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>There’s a bakery near the museum I’m very fond of. Is it a reasonable distance from you?</em> </b>
</p><p>A link was sent to Will and he tapped it open. A bougie bakery’s website greeted him and it was only 20 minutes from his apartment. He shot the address to his best friend before he had to pause. </p><p>“Wait… he’s planning on driving all the way to Virginia? For coffee?” </p><p>Bev tapped away at her computer before she turned it towards her bud, showing him a map. “That’s over an hour from Baltimore. He <em> really </em>thinks you’re cute, apparently.”</p><p>“He thinks the painting is cute.” Will remarked, still unsure how he felt about that fact. </p><p>“And it’s going to get you laid.” </p><p>“Don’t start.” He muttered as he replied. </p><p>
  <b> <em>Yeah it’s pretty close to me.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Wonderful. It’s a date then.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Looking forward to it. </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>As am I. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon Will. </em> </b>
</p><p>He let out a loud exhale and set his phone down on the table, a sense of finality resting on his shoulders. “It’s done.”</p><p>Beverly stole his phone and reread the conversation. “I’m so excited for you dude. And if it goes horribly we can egg his huge house.” </p><p>“His house?” Will asked hesitantly. </p><p>She turned the computer once more, still on the article. There was a smaller photo of a rather dramatic looking mansion . “ … You know what? That doesn’t even surprise me. It fits the eccentric millionaire vibe he has about him.”</p><p>“Yeah, I feel like he’s missing a few gargoyles.” Bev shot him a smirk. </p><p>When Will finally returned to his tiny apartment he was more tired that he’d realized. Winston at least was normal, as happy to see him as always. He spent the rest of the night as he usually did, reheating some leftovers for dinner while he turned on the news. </p><p>He certainly hadn’t expected his life to be so mundane… so easily disrupted by one person. </p><p>Bev was right, he <em> really </em>needed to get out of his comfort zone. </p><p>“Breaking news!” His thoughts were interrupted by a serious looking anchor woman. “We have just received word that another potential Ripper victim was found by local law enforcement and he has been identified as Jeremy Olmstead, a local machine shop worker. The FBI refused to comment at this time.”</p><p>“Well, shit.” Will muttered as he picked up his phone and pulled up <em> Tattlecrime </em>, unable to stop himself. </p><p>
  <b>THE CHESAPEAKE RIPPER’S WOUNDED MAN</b>
</p><p>The pictures the article had were about as gruesome as Will had expected them to be. He quickly scrolled past them as he felt something- someone- begin to whisper in his head, his <em> creative </em>imagination already trying to put puzzle pieces together. </p><p>
  <em> FBI profilers have often speculated that the Ripper is a surgeon due to his habit of taking surgical trophies… </em>
</p><p>The trainee sighed as he got up and grabbed a notebook. It was going to be a long night, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until his mind had finished what it started.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. If You'd Just Ask Me To</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>** Sorry for the repost, there were some technical difficulties! Please enjoy chapter 2!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Today was going to be the most important day of Will’s career: the actual beginning of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No pressure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trainee closed his eyes for a second, taking in a deep breath as he stood outside of Jack Crawford’s office. If he played his cards right he could prove himself to the head of the BAU. Will had barely passed his psych screening and everyone knew it, but it wouldn’t matter if he was different if he brought in results. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he had the courage, he pushed open the door. “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Agent Crawford.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The agent barely lifted his eyes from his desk, flipping through reports. “Will Graham, is it? My receptionist told me you left a voicemail this morning saying you had a lead on the Ripper case?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man didn’t bother to hide his doubtful tone, but Will already knew he was being tested. Crawford recognized his name but wasn’t sure of him yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not one to be deterred, Will sat down and slid a file towards Jack. “I think the Ripper treated the most recent victim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh do you? When?” Jack finally looked up and Will rested his gaze on the man’s cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need permission to go through the victim’s medical records to figure that part out.” He took his glasses off to clean them. “I imagine it was years ago, enough time to put distance between them, but I’m certain it happened.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Will moved to put his glasses back on his face, Jack reached out and plucked them from his fingers. “Your file says you have problems being social.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Resisting the urge to look away, Will briefly made eye contact with the agent and quickly had to glance away. “I find other people… overwhelming.” He admitted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It also </span>
  <em>
    <span>alleged </span>
  </em>
  <span>you have a colorful imagination.” The agent handed him back his glasses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s one way to put it.” The young man readjusted them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell you what,” Crawford rested his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands together. “Explain to me your thought process and I’ll see what I can do about the medical records.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Show me the crime scene photos. I've seen some pictures online but I can do more with the actual case file.” Will sighed, resigned to feeling a bit like he was in a pony show. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The agent considered the offer. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Just </span>
  </em>
  <span>the photos.” He finally agreed, reaching into his desk to pull out the file. The man unclipped the stack of pictures and slid them to Will. At least he was helping save lives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arranging them took a moment, but together they gave him a better sense of the scene than the few images uploaded to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tattlecrime </span>
  </em>
  <span>had</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He shut his eyes, letting his mind quiet while the scene- The Ripper- did the talking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Will opened his eyes again, he had the distinct feeling that something lingered with him, just out of reach in the shadows. He rubbed his eyes. "He thinks the victim deserved to die- or more accurately everyone deserves to die, he just let's most people live."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So a god complex?" Jack raised an eyebrow  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"More or less. He finds certain people more deserving of death than others, and that's the pool he picks his victims from. The people themselves don't matter, just what they can offer- his trophies and a death more impactful than their lives."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And how does that connect to Jeremy Olmstead?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jeremy Olmstead must have stuck out to the Ripper." Will leaned back in his chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>decided </span>
  </em>
  <span>to kill him now, after years of waiting?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's a very patient sociopath, Agent Crawford." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're making a lot of assumptions, Trainee.” Crawford warned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what you asked me to do.” Will reminded him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The head of the BAU searched his face for a moment before he finally gave a nod. “We’ll speak with the family and I’ll get back to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that, Will was dismissed. He nodded once and made his exit. If he sat in his car for thirty minutes afterwards to recover from the interaction, that was no one’s business but his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually he checked the time and remembered he had a date to prepare for and finally went back to his apartment. He assumed Hannibal would be dressed to the nines, as he had been at the museum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will decided their meeting wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>a date as he looked at his wardrobe. He really didn’t own anything fancy, but then, that wasn’t really surprising. Hannibal has asked him for coffee anyway, despite their obvious gap in class and age. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, perhaps that’s just what rich people </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went with a plaid shirt and slacks, refusing to deliberate on options. Throwing a glance at the mirror as he left, he swallowed some of his reservations. If things didn’t go well, he’d just block the man and never see him again. If things went well…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will had trouble visualizing a good conclusion and realized that probably said something about him as a person. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He unlocked his car and sat down, sending Bev a text letting her know he’d check in and another to Hannibal. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I’m heading out now. I should be there by six.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Another quick response. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Wonderful, see you soon.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Will started the car and began driving before he could talk himself out of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprisingly, Hannibal was already sitting outside of the bakery, a beverage and plate sat in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought the man was just wearing a navy blue suit, but as he drew closer he noticed that the fabric was a subtle plaid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will,” The foreigner greeted warmly, politely rising as the trainee drew closer. “I’m glad you could make it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face was as closed off as before, but that warmth was back in his eyes, barely noticeable, and Will couldn’t really guess the cause. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah… Good to see you again?” Small talk had never been his forte, and he couldn’t help but notice that Hannibal didn’t offer to shake his hand. In fact, he had clasped his hands behind him. Will glanced down at the empty plate on the table. “Did you already eat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid I just came from the hospital and I was famished.” He inclined his head in a silent apology. “Shall we head inside and get you something?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah… “ Will couldn’t help but notice the polite distance Hannibal kept as they headed inside, even as the older man holding the door for him. Trying to make him feel more comfortable, perhaps?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Hannibal wasn’t here to flirt, what</span>
  <em>
    <span> was </span>
  </em>
  <span>happening?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The young man ordered a black coffee and a croissant on autopilot, more concerned with trying to pin down the cause of the strange encounter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal ordered a glass of wine before he turned to Will. “Not one for lattes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really… Coffee is coffee, there’s no reason to add a bunch of sugar.” He offered a half shrug. Is this what normal people did?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His conversation partner at least seemed… amused? Hannibal didn’t seem like the person to waste his time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they were finally back outside and sitting, Will had had enough. “Why did you ask me out?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man took his time, smelling his wine before he took a refined sip. “Because I wanted to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course he’d be enigmatic. “Because I look like your painting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tick at the corner of his mouth. “Our meeting was certainly serendipitous. Why did you agree to come?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will squinted at him, annoyed but too curious to drop it. “If I answer honestly, will you do the same?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, I suppose that’s fair.” The man allowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re impossible to read. I look at your face and get nothing, it’s like looking at a mask.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiled</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it was small, sure, but it was the first time his stone face had moved more than a twitch that day. “I asked you to coffee because I find you interesting. The painting played a role, yes, but when we spoke you didn’t bore me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hesitant nod. “You get bored easily.” He inferred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you don’t seem like the most social of people either,” Hannibal said lightly. “Why don’t we try being antisocial together? Maybe you’ll learn to see under the mask.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will pursed his lips, considering the offer. “… Is this going to be sexual?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t lay a hand on you until you ask.” It was spoken like a vow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Until’ I ask? Not if? That seems presumptive.” Will countered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another, warmer smile lightened maroon eyes. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>If </span>
  </em>
  <span>you ask.” He corrected smoothly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will eyed him for a long moment before he finally started to relax. Hannibal at least seemed like a manageable kind of odd. “You said you came from the hospital?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I left my shift a little early but my colleague owed me a favor. I barely had time to rush home and wash the hospital smell off.” A sip of wine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The younger man made a face at the thought. “I appreciate it, really. Your business card said you’re a trauma surgeon? Sounds stressful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It can be, though I have to admit I enjoy the fast pace. Not a fan of hospitals, Will?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His left shoulder ached at the reminder. “Not really my scene.” He paused then tacked on, “I’m currently enrolled at the FBI academy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A noble career path. It seems we both deal in life and death.” The man seemed strangely pleased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s what makes the world go round.” Will answered dryly, finally taking a bite of his food. He didn’t miss the fact that Hannibal </span>
  <em>
    <span>watched </span>
  </em>
  <span>him eat, looking a tad too interested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are all born to die. I believe it was Jean Paul Richter that said ‘Death gives us sleep, eternal youth, and immortality.’” The man sipped his wine, uncaring that he’d been noticed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will snorted. “Sounds like an optimistic guy. Dying from old age, disease, or homicide doesn’t exactly fit that peaceful description.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was a Romantic, in the literal sense, yes. I’ll admit it sounds better in German.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A blink. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>know German?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“English is my eighth language, Will.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you’re just showing off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal huffed, a sound that could have easily been a laugh or a sigh. “I’ve been told that before.” The man checked his stupidly expensive watch. “I plan on having you home by ten. Does that sound reasonable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The young man studied him for a moment. “… Are we going somewhere else?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’d be more comfortable staying here I am amenable, but I thought we could go for a walk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A walk?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a public park nearby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A secondary location, Dr. Lecter?” Will asked with mock suspicion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Lithuanian showed his hands, amused. “I assure you my intentions aren’t nefarious.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The young man took the time to chew on it. To be fair, today was probably the most he’d spoken to someone who wasn’t affiliated with the FBI since… ever. His curiosity about the enigma that was Hannibal Lecter hadn’t been sated yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“… Okay, let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will decided to let Lecter drive them both the short distance, pulling out his phone and texting Beverly his location in the other man's line of sight. The strange man just drove, appearing to be preoccupied with his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>How's it going? Is he cool or creepy? I have eggs on standby.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>TBD</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>When they arrived the older gentleman stepped out and went to his trunk, Will watching him suspiciously as he followed his lead. Hannibal innocently held up an insulated travel container for the trainee to inspect. "Just a cheese platter and a bottle of wine, officer." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When did you have the time?" He asked, surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Last night. I enjoy feeding people." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will nodded his head slowly and followed Hannibal into the park, the setting sun reflecting off of the large pond that made the place popular with families. The older man picked a tree that was out of the way of the path and laid out a blanket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You prepared a picnic?” He was oddly touched by the thought. It certainly held more weight than an expensive dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did. I thought it would be a lovely way to watch the sunset.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting together, but still maintaining polite distance, Hannibal unpacked the array of fruits, cheese, and crackers, before he pulled out a chilled thermos and used the travel cups to pour them both a glass of wine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to admit, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Doctor, </span>
  </em>
  <span>this is more rustic than I was expecting.” Will mused as he accepted his cup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>trainee agent, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m glad I could impress you.” The older man finally pulled out a roll of sausage and a small knife, slicing them an equal share of meat discs. “If it helps, I made the sausage myself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will bit into it, closing his eyes as the flavor exploded over his tongue. “Holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chuckle, just a soft breath of a sound, left Hannibal Lecter’s lips and Will felt his heart skip a beat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take that as a complement, dear Will.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh It’s ‘dear Will’ is it?” He deflected the strange feeling in his chest with humor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal didn’t let it slide, leaning in a little closer. “The dearest.” He said softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will couldn’t look away from his eyes, the most open he’d seen the man yet, just a small crack in the armor giving the profiler just a taste of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>depth </span>
  </em>
  <span>of emotion Hannibal was feeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t just </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>Will. There was more there than the empath could read all at once. And then it was gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The older man leaned away, still smiling but his mask returned as he picked a piece of sausage for himself. “I’m honored you enjoy my cooking. Do you usually prepare your own meals, Will?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will took a gulp of wine. His name sounded different now, coming from those lips. “I, uh, usually eat pretty basic meals. My dad was a meat and potatoes kind of man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal side eyed him, letting his disapproval be known.  “Can I cook for you tomorrow? It’ll be a late dinner, but I promise it’ll be worth it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The young man opened his mouth. Then closed it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tomorrow.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Johns Hopkins is in Baltimore, right? That’s a drive.” He said slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Lithuanian smiled in the dying light of the sun. “One I’d happily make, again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Say no. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannibal looked pleased as he sipped his wine, then ate another piece of sausage as they enjoyed the last of the daylight together in silence. </span>
</p><p><span>Will was </span><em><span>excited </span></em><span>about what the future held in store</span> <span>and- that made him </span><em><span>terrified</span></em><span>.</span></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank y’all so much for reading, kudos, and comments! Y’all make my day ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. I Love the Shitty Things We Do Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’ve been having a rough time at work lately and writing has really helped keep me sane. It’s an added bonus that people like what I’m writing! Thank you readers, we’ll get through this together ♥️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It took several weeks to hear back from Jack about the medical records. Will had hosted Hannibal Lecter in his tiny apartment almost every night. The doctor always kept his silent no touching rule, always keeping some space between them. It was strange, but somehow Will was </span>
  <em>
    <span>relieved. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Being around Hannibal was intense enough without adding physical contact to the mix. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He typically avoided questions about the hospital, preferring to hear about Will’s day. The man soaked in every detail of Will’s mundane life, always giving the younger man his complete attention, as if he was committing everything to memory.. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was endearing. What was even more endearing was Hannibal’s cooking. He always brought enough for Will to pack a lunch for the next day. The trainee couldn’t remember the last time he went grocery shopping. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Things were… good. Bev even told him they were cute together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you do all this for me?” Will had asked quietly one night, the two of them sitting together, but apart, on the couch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal always left at ten, on the dot, usually after telling him to get some sleep. That night was different. The man stayed just past eleven. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Lithuanian sipped his cup of tea, as proper as always. “Because I like you, dear Will. It makes me happy to care for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what do you get out of it?” He stared out the window in front of them, his gaze lost in the city, unable to look at the other man when he answered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will closed his eyes when he felt the couch shift, feeling Hannibal’s warmth radiate closer as he moved to murmur in his ear, “Your time and attention.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not an even trade.” The words almost caught in his throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right.” Hannibal returned to his side of the couch, leaving Will feeling cold. “You deserve so much more.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no response. Will hadn’t had the courage to speak again. Too scared to open that last door.<br/></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, weeks later. He wished he had. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack Crawford eventually obtained the medical records- all 1,000+ pages of them. Apparently, Olmstead had been suffering from a number of health problems and had been to </span>
  <em>
    <span>many </span>
  </em>
  <span>ERs over the last ten years. The head of the BAU was more than happy to let the trainee sift through the </span>
  <em>
    <span>mess </span>
  </em>
  <span>that was the dead man's medical history.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He made a list of every doctor mentioned in the record, including those that had only had brief interactions, and his hope for an easy suspect list dwindled around number fifty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Number sixty-five, however, felt like a punch to the stomach, stealing the wind from his lungs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Patient fractured his left tibia after falling off from a tree while hunting. Arrived by EMS. Dr. Hannibal Lecter to perform emergency …</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made sense. He fit the profile. The following operation report, dictated by the good doctor, was dated five years ago, enough time to put a buffer between him and his vict- patient. </span>
</p>
<p><em><span>Let's be antisocial</span></em> <em><span>together.</span></em></p>
<p>
  <span>There were possibly a hundred medical professionals that had interacted with Olmstead over the last ten years, seeing the one surgeon he knew wasn't a death sentence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Hannibal was… Hannibal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needed to call Agent Crawford.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he put his work away, cleaned up his reserved study room, and went home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You deserve so much more. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<ul>

</ul>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal let himself in at seven, Will having started the habit of leaving the door unlocked for him. He carried in a few shopping bags filled with ingredients and tupperware, as he always did. “Good evening Will, how was your day?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The young man stood up from his threadbare couch and turned to face the foreigner, catching the moment when Hannibal’s face shuttered closed, clearly sensing the change in mood. He didn’t seem very surprised as he asked, “A bad one, then?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you work in the Chesapeake area five years ago?” Will asked, voice soft when he meant it to be firm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I’ll take that as a yes.” Will chuckled, feeling like he was waist deep in quicksand- feet struggling to find solid ground, anything to stop him from sinking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maroon eyes closed and Will watched the man’s chest rise with a deep inhale. When he finally looked at the younger man, he offered a kind smile. “Very impressive. What gave me away?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The trainee felt his knees weaken and he had to sit. “You turned one of your former patients into the wounded man. I’m aware of its medical importance, what I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>know is why.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A cryptic smile. “I think you do know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will shot him a glare. “He was a bad patient.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You never cease to amaze me.” The murderer murmured, voice low. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t.” He growled, “Stop doing that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Being amazed by you? I’m afraid that’s impossible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The trainee jumped to his feet, hands balled into fists. “Stop acting like nothing has changed!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man chuckled, warmth returning to his face as he began to prepare dinner. “It doesn’t have to.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes! Yes it does! You not only </span>
  <em>
    <span>murdered </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jeremy Olmstead, you tortured him. You drove tools into his body </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>stole some organs while he was still alive, Hannibal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We all have our vices, Will.” He said as he began to chop a red onion. “You’re not wearing a wire.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The young man’s blood went cold. “... You don’t know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do. I’m also assuming you haven’t told any agents.” Hannibal looked up from his prep just long enough to make eye contact, humming when he saw what he was looking for. “You haven’t. I wonder why that is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was hoping I was wrong.” Will whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A nod. “Understandable, but that’s not all. What else?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The young man glanced at the door, wondering if he could beat Hannibal to it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re crazy.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Chesapeake Ripper sighed but didn’t stop his work. “You’re curious how this is going to end. I won’t stop you from turning me in, Will. In fact, I won’t even be taking your phone from you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh really? How gracious of you”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All I ask is that after dinner we drive to my house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would I go anywhere with you?” He hissed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal sighed. “Because you want answers. I’ll explain everything to you, but I can only do that from my home. There’s something I need you to see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, a corpse in your basement?” He scoffed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Lithuanian offered him an amused look. “You’ve wondered about the painting, I’m sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The young man hesitated. His first instinct was to assume that the Ripper had been stalking him, but he knew that didn’t add up. The painting had to have been at least two hundred years old. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal worked on reheating the part of the meal he had already started at home, finishing things up. “If I said that I loved you, would you believe me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will blinked. He couldn’t help but remember the park, that small glimpse behind the mask. His heart skipped a beat. “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The older man stopped, set down what he’d been working on, and walked towards the trainee, stopping a few feet short. “I’d rather you didn’t lie to me.” He tilted his head slightly. “Or to yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m supposed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>a serial killer to love me?” Will held his ground, though the proximity sent adrenaline through his veins. He wouldn’t make it if he ran. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand this is overwhelming, and I apologize that I didn’t have more time to build up to this revelation, but please Will, let me explain and then you can make your choice. I won’t hurt you, no matter what you do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will glared into disturbingly honest maroon eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal sighed and held out his hand. “Indulge me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Excuse me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can poke me, if that’s preferred.” He half smiled, holding his position. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The trainee glanced up at him, finding the mask was back. He knew he shouldn’t take the bait, but he couldn’t deny his curiosity, as Hannibal typically went out of his way to avoid contact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hesitantly reached out and touched their fingertips together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A bolt of warm electricity ran up his arm and he had to pull away, stumbling back. “What the hell?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can answer all your questions, Will.” He said softly. The empath couldn’t help but pick up the yearning in his voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s happening?” The young man asked, feeling panic begin to bubble up in his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>We </span>
  </em>
  <span>are happening, mano meilė. Will you come home with me?” Hannibal moved to hold his hands behind his back like he needed to do something before he reached for more, like he longed to cradle Will in his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A panicked laugh escaped his mouth before he could stop it. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> crazy, this is it I’ve gone crazy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He received a noticeably tight smile in answer. Hannibal went back to what was supposed to be dinner and packed everything into the fridge. Like they’d be back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man grabbed his keys as he headed to the front door. “Will.” He said softly after he opened the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The young man couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a request or a promise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He went with him anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The drive to Baltimore was silent. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You can take my electric touch trope when you pry it from my cold, dead hands</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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